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If there was one advantage to the early aging that the ring was foisting upon him it was the fact that he had developed the insomnia that plagued everyone once they got to a certain stage in their lives. Regis woke up between five and six o’clock every day, sometimes earlier on days when the arthritis was particularly bad, but he hadn’t remembered waking later in the last three or four years. It was an exhausting way to live, working until midnight and waking again at five or six only to try and finish whatever he couldn’t the previous night before he was swamped again after his morning meetings with the council.
Unfortunately, there had been a development on the front late that night and reports were coming in a horrible flurry. As he sat at the head of the table in the secure council chamber, where all the classified and confidential material was discussed, trying to make sense of the reports and everyone talking over the top of each other, you would think that a bunch of old men and women would know to be silent when someone else was speaking, but at least they all fell silent when he raised his own hand. It was good to know that being king still meant something in some circles.
“Alright, it is my understanding that while there was a surprise attack and there were casualties the enemy forces were repelled and we are still in a rather decent position. Do I have my facts straight?” Regis asked.
“Yes, your majesty, those are the pertinent details,” Ignis confirmed, while Ignis was technically his son’s future advisor, he was a good voice to have in council, smart and level-headed. Having him in the room also assured that the pertinent details, as he called them, would make it back to Noctis. Noctis, about whom his council was becoming more and more worried, partly due to his disinterest in any and all forms of politics and partly due to the fact he was going through a bit of a rebellious phase. He had taken to clubbing, which had somewhat surprised Regis initially considering it involved loud noises and a large amount of people in one place, around him. Regis figured it must have been the booze and the fact he had his friends with him and left him to it. If Noctis chose to spend one or two nights a week clubbing that was fine by him, it was far tamer than what Regis had gotten up to during his time as a teenager.
Mind you Regis had hated his father in a way he didn’t think his son did, was Noctis saddened by the fact he couldn’t spend much time with him and had been cancelling their weekly dinners with increased frequency as his son had gotten older? Definitely. Was his son disappointed in him? Most certainly, but he didn’t think he hated him. And now it was time for him to think about something else, because as Clarus had told him more than once he became a maudlin fool whenever he started thinking about Noctis and how he couldn’t spend as much time as he wanted to with his son.
“However Majesty, I would suggest that we send some reinforcements, just to ensure that if there’s a second assault we can be sure that they will be defeated,” Cinna continued. Cinna was one of the more moderate voices on the council, and one he was on friendlier terms with.
Regis found himself nodding along as he looked over the reports one more time, “I agree, Clarus are the new glaives ready for combat?”
Clarus shrugged, “yes, at this point the only thing that will help them improve their skills is experience, there’s nothing more we can teach them.”
Regis sighed, leaning back in the chair, “alright, send the new company out as reinforcements. Once the glaives at home are off rest have them swap off with the ones from the attack. They did good work and they held the line, lets give them a few days rest as reward for their good work.”
Around the table the council members all nodded, satisfied enough with the decision, so Regis asked, “are there anymore subjects that need discussion here today?”
“No, majesty,” his aid, Maris, said.
“Good, I need to get to the throne room, Maris have the audiences all been shuffled appropriately?”
“Yes, majesty. Here is the list now,” the woman said, handing the the tablet over.
“Well then, shall we?” Regis asked, standing up, taking the proffered cane and shuffling over to the door. He was already so late.
As he walked through the halls to the throne room his council followed him, giving him various updates about the less urgent things going on in the kingdom, and as Regis dragged his aching, tired body through the citadel he did try to pay attention because he was the king and it was important for him to know these sorts of things. When they had finally reached the throne room, Clarus, godsend that he was, opened the heavy doors for him and as he hobbled into the room he was greeted with a sight he had honestly never seen before, or expected to.
His nineteen year old son.
In his underwear.
Sleeping on the throne.
Drooling on it.
Face flushed red in a way that he hadn’t seen since that gala almost two years ago where some of the kids thought it would be a good idea to spike the drinks. It hadn’t been a good idea, he had made that very clear to them when he found out that they had managed to get his underage son drunk.
He took it back. He did not like his son’s form of teenage rebellion and it had to stop. Immediately. This was beyond embarrassing.
In the minute it had taken for him to process the sight before him his council had already erupted into whispers and rumours regarding his son of a negative persuasion were being exchanged left and right.
“Clarus,” he heard himself say frostily, “please help my wayward son off the throne.”
Clarus sighed, muttering something about teenage boys and made his way up the many useless, unnecessary steps to the throne.
“Alright, highness,” his shield said in a no nonsense voice that he had often used to bring his own rowdy children quickly into line, laying a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, “time to get-”
The shield cut himself off, frowned worriedly, and hesitantly laid the back of his hand on the prince’s forehead.
“Shit,” he hissed, “Regis, he’s burning up.”
Sick?
Sick?
In the space of a heartbeat the irritation he had woken up with, which had been multiplied by seeing Noctis on the throne like that vanished and all he could feel was terror.
Sick? Like Aulea had been? Burning up for weeks on end before there was finally nothing left to burn? Until she had finally been stolen away from him?
He hobbled over to Noctis as fast as he could, ignoring the shooting pain through his leg when he put too much weight on his bad one, climbing his way up the stairs in record speed. Clarus was trying to wake his son, unsuccessfully.
“Noctis?” Regis asked, “Noctis, I need you to wake up for me.”
After a few seconds his little prince stirred, “Dad?” Noct asked softly.
“Yes, Noctis I’m here now.”
“Where were you? I came to find you, you weren’t here.” he asked so softly Regis almost missed it, opening his beautiful blue eyes only a fraction.
Regis choked as the tears begun to well in his eyes, he had taken bullets that had hurt less than this, “I’m sorry son, I’m here now, everything will be alright.”
Noctis tried to curl tighter in on himself, “everything hurts.”
“Oh Noctis. Come on son, let’s get you back to bed.”
As Clarus lifted him up he could hear Noctis groan in pain before mumbling, “sorry, know you’re busy. Shouldn’t’ve interrupted.”
Regis clenched his hand tight around his cane and gritted his teeth. Once he had made it back down the stairs and to the council he turned to Maris, “cancel everything, I’m taking the day off.”
The poor woman choked, “your highness, some of those meetings are extremely urgent.”
“It can wait. I’m leaving the council in charge if you have trouble making any decisions then contact Clarus, he has veto power. I’m unavailable. And get someone to send some cold compresses to Noctis’ room.”
“Would you like me to make some broth, your Majesty. Easy on the stomach and highly nutritious,” Ignis asked politely.
“If you could, Ignis, that would be wonderful.”
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Regis eased himself into the armchair Clarus had thoughtfully brought over to Noctis’ bed and prepared another cold compress. The bed had already been stripped of its blankets and extra sheets, leaving only Noctis and his two pillows lying upon it. He had already changed the compress twice and if one of the doctors hadn’t come around to check on Noctis and told him that it was alright, he would have been panicking. Instead he constantly ran through the list of things the doctor had told him to do to help his son as if it were a song on loop.
No blankets.
Cold compress on the forehead.
Every half hour or so change the compress, and when he did Regis would just use the compress to wipe down Noctis’ neck and chest in a modified spongebath.
Give him some nutritious food.
Have him take a tepid bath, not cold or ice.
He hadn’t been able to do the last two, Noctis hadn’t woken up yet, and what he could do didn’t feel like much, didn’t feel like enough. But anything was better than nothing and he needed to do something to help his son.
As he stroked Noctis’ hair the lines around his eyes tightened, he had no idea how long Noctis had been lying there on the throne, in the dark, overheated and shivering in pain. All he knew was that Noctis had looked for him and he hadn’t been there. For all that they now lived only two doors away from each other it wasn’t like he saw his son more often now that he had moved back into the citadel, not with the war winding up again.
But that was just an excuse, wasn’t it?
Because he had made his priorities clear and Noctis had bowed out with a graciousness that was stunning. Regis had fought for his father’s attention, dragged it where he wanted it kicking and screaming, Noctis simply smiled sadly and said it was alright, that he understood.
Regis had sworn he wouldn’t be like his father. That he wouldn’t have a child just so the throne would have an heir. That he would take care of his son, love him, cherish him. He still loved his son, more than anything in the entire world and he still cherished the too short hours they spent together, but when had he stopped taking care of him? When had he relegated Noctis entirely to Ignis? When had he added Noctis to that endless list of tasks as if he was just another chore?
This had to stop.
He still remembered when Noctis was young, how he had spent more nights in Regis’ bed than his own, how he would work through the night with Noctis’ head on his lap, and maybe it was because he had been younger then but in those memories nothing hurt and he never felt more tired than happy. When had that stopped? Why had that stopped?
When had Noctis hidden himself in a shell so thick that he couldn’t penetrate it? When had he stopped knowing his son? When had their dinners together started to have more awkward silences than laughter and inside jokes?
As the tears began to roll down his face he gave up the last shreds of any kingly countenance he still possessed and began crying in earnest, because somehow when he wasn’t looking a chasm had opened up between him and his son and he had no idea how to bridge it.
As his mind ran in circles, trying to come up with a way to fix this, Noctis stirred. Regis hurriedly wiped his tears away, now was not the time to burden his son even further. As those beautiful blue eyes opened he could read the faint surprise there.
“Dad, you’re here.”
Regis smiled, “how are you feeling Noctis?”
As his son slowly and gingerly turned on his side so he could see his father better he answered, “still pretty sore, but better than last night.”
“That’s good,” he replied, carding his fingers slowly through Noctis’ hair, “could you drink some broth for me? Ignis made it for you.”
Noctis grimaced a little, “just a little.”
“Just a little,” he echoed in confirmation, shifting onto the bed, taking the broth in one hand and cradling his son in the other arm. He let Noctis sip slowly from the warm thermos, at his own pace and they managed not to create a mess everywhere which was good. Once they a little more than halfway through the thermos Noctis shook his head and Regis put the broth back on the nightstand without arguing.
“Stay with me?” Noctis looked up with glassy eyes.
“Of course, son.”
Regis shucked off all the royal paraphernalia, the cloak, the chains, the leg brace, until he was down to just his shirt and slacks, tossing it all on the arm chair, before picking up a pillow from the floor and laying himself down next to Noctis. Who immediately laid his head down over his chest and clutched his shirt with one hand. Regis moved one arm around his son, so he could hold him in a gentle hug.
Maybe, just maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as he had thought to bridge that gap after all.